


give me your hand and you will see (your heart is keeping time with me)

by bvrussia



Category: Football RPF
Genre: God - Freeform, M/M, hehe, i cant believe i'm posting this, i'm never getting over them, it happens on JULY not june like i had wrote, sorry for my mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:59:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bvrussia/pseuds/bvrussia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thanks for beating his ass for me.” Mario says, a smirk on his lips. Marco just laughs.<br/>“You’re welcome.” He answers as they make their way to the pitch, surrounded by all his teammates chatting and laughing lively.<br/>The morning sun against his skin makes him feel at peace – but his heart still beats a little faster when Mario twines their fingers with an easy smile playing on his lips</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me your hand and you will see (your heart is keeping time with me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabiula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabiula/gifts).



> mario gotze is back to borussia fucking dortmund and i’m back to ao3 :)  
> this is based on “one day” plot – the same day in different years of their lives – and at first i should probably warn you that i’m not sure about all these dates and i’m pretty certain mario was not playing for the under 21 die manschaft back in 2009 – but i don’t care anyways, i’ve got writer’s license for it.  
> also, what’s the probability of them kissing for the first time exactly one year after they met? well, I don’t know, you can call it destiny or you can blame it on me being cheesy, it’s up to you  
> (AND do i want to punch mats hummels right in the face? yes. can i stop writing about him in any of my works? obviously no)  
> my initial plan was posting this on the exactly same day that everything happens but I couldn’t make it :///  
> still i’m actually happy because i FINALLY posted this after all <3 june was a really rough month in my life and i couldn’t even think properly imagine writing lmao AND to add up i had a fucking writer’s block on july – exactly on my winter break. life sucks sometimes  
> warn me about any grammar or vocabulary mistakes – english is not my first language and it doesn’t matter how hard i search for my mistakes i always let one or two pass by  
> i’m jukiamcfly on twitter now – leave me a message there if you want to, i swear i’m pretty nice. AND i’m liaselmeminger on tumblr and izzylighwood on curiouscat ^~^  
> PLS pls leave kudos/comments if you appreciate this – those are what keeps me writing and trying to improve  
> thank you for reading <3

[I](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/I-numero-romano). 16.07. _2009_

He has puffy eyes and a grumpy face as he heads out of the bus – Marco is not a _wake up in dawn and travelling for three hours_ person, definitely not.

He carries his backpack on his back and wears one of his new Mönchengladbach jackets, Mats smiles as soon as he sees him, a excited look on his eyes - but Marco is not buying it, not today. “God, _don_ _’t even get started_.” He covers his face using his hands. “Just leave me alone, I need to sleep properly.” 

“I missed you too.” He huffs Marco’s hair before embracing him in a warm hug. It has become and habit between the two of them by now, Marco doesn’t even try to argue against Mats messing up his hair – he won’t ever stop, what’s the point of even trying to make him?

 “Don’t be an ass.” Mats keeps one of his arms around his back after they part – it’s cold, Marco won’t be the one to deny human heat in here and, after all, they haven't seen each other for three months, he misses him too.

“It’s seven in the morning.” He simply answers.“And I woke up four hours ago – I’m being an ass through the entire day, prepare yourself.” Mats just laughs.

“Come on, show me that crooked smile of yours, _Marcinho_.” Marco just rolls his eyes as Mats opens the door for him. The first face he sees inside is not really familiar.

*

He looks too young to be here already, Marco thinks as he watches him filling his mouth with bread. Someone next to him makes a joke, he laughs out loud, red spreading on his huge cheeks as he does so. 

“So –“he pokes Jerome’s ribs under the table “new fish in the sea.” He turns his look back to the brown haired boy he had been watching since early, he murmurs something about how great is this food.

“Götze.” He stops to take a sip of his coffee. “Nice guy, funny one, I guess. He plays at Dortmund since childhood, you should’ve met him already.”

“I’ve never seen his face before.” He says, analysing his features discreetly. He’d have remembered it, for sure.

“He’s pretty good, actually. Rumour has it he is about to turn into the new Klopp’s _pet_.”

“He must be.” Marco turns his attention back to him – a shade of red he has never seen takes over _Mario_ _’s_ cheeks as he laughs, Marco holds back his own smile. After that, he doesn’t ask anything else about him, spends the rest of the time answering Mats’ unstoppable questions about how is everything going on Mönchengladbach. 

He met Mats on the early years of his career, before he even believed it would take off. Mats played on the youth Bayern team, still not even half of the defender he would turn himself into – Marco was still playing for Dortmund back them, trying to find his place at the club. They played a friendly against each other and in the next week found themselves together again, both trying to get into the youth German team. Marco didn’t make it yet, Mats did.

They kept in touch after that, meeting every time they could and exchanging messages now and then.  When Mats made it to Dortmund, Marco was still playing for Ahlen. They used to meet every time Marco visited his family, going out to have a beer and catch up.  Mats was ridiculously excited when Marco told him signed with Mönchengladbach.

When breakfast finishes, they’re guided outside. Hrubesch makes a twenty-minute long speech how important it is for the German football that they work to form a consistent basis – _so they better take all of it with the seriousness he expects from their grown up asses_. Marco, who has heard it a hundred times is still trying to understand why he insists on doing it every fucking time, spends most of it speaking to Sami, who sits next to him, about his transfer. Most of his teammates do the same, but a few – Mario Götze being one of them – pay full attention to what the coach is saying, shaking their heads in approval now and then.

Maybe that’s the reason Hrubesch acts like he’s in love with him,  Mats points out after he shows half of the team the way his eyes shine when he talks or even looks at Mario.  Marco stands next to him when they’re warming up outside, the height difference is clear – he doesn’t even notice it, Mario’s presence too pompous for him to even remember that the boy next is three years younger.  They’re grouped in the same team, together with Mesut. “I’m gonna whip your asses.” Mats teases when he passes by – he hears Mario snorting next to him, Ozil murmurs something about them seeing how it will turn out in the end.

“Hey.” Mario says when they’re standing in front of each other, the ball under Mario’s right feet as they wait for the game to start.

“Hi.” Marco answers, a shy smile on his lips and his eyes almost disappearing in his face because of the sun light against it.

“Nice to meet you, Marco” He reaches his hand for Marco to shake, his smile mirroring the one on Marco’s face. 

“Yeah, it’s good to meet you too, Mario.” He answers just before the whistle goes on.

They work ridiculously well together for a pair that has just met– Marco can’t even start explaining it. They pass the ball to each other as if they’ve done it a hundred times before and Mario easily makes his way into scoring two goals – leaving Neuer with an open mouth and an angry look. When Marco manages to score his own, Mario literally jumps on him – for some terrifying seconds he thinks he’s about to fall down, he doesn’t, happily, and he just hugs Mario back with as much strength.  Marco wonders what they would be able to do if they actually trained on daily basis.

On the seconds half Mesut scores his goal with Mario’s assistance, and he sends Mats a kiss in the air. Marco hears Hrubesh shouting something – it could be either ridiculously excited or angry, he can’t bring himself to understand half of the words he’s saying when he swings his arms in the air without stop.

 “Great work, _little one_.” Boateng says, slapping Mario’s butt in a friendly act when the match ends, they high five afterwards, taking off they sweated jerseys as they walk do the locker room. 

Marco stays silent as he washes himself, Mario, however, sings his lungs out as he soaps his body under the freezing water – Mats throws something at him at some point of it in a failed attempt to make him stop, but Mario uses it as a fake microphone in the end. Marco smiles, staring down at the wet floor under his foot.

They walk inside together after that – he wears a ridiculous amount of perfume, Marco notices, still thinking if he finds it amusing or intoxicating – and Mario softly bumps they shoulders together. When Marco looks at him, he doesn’t say anything, but his mouth is curled up in a little smile, Marco mirrors it easily, doesn’t even need to hear anything to understand that Mario meant to congratulate – both – on the work done.

*

When dinner time comes, he sits in front of Mario.  He tries his best not to stare, knows it would be to creepy if he did. Mario chats with Mesut the entire time, casually pointing out how great he thinks the food is when they don’t have anything better to say – Marco takes part of the conversation sometimes, murmuring a few words, and Mario seems oddly surprised that he’s talking.

They finish their meal, and Hrubesh acts like the big father he thinks he is declaring that they can now go to the living room and relax or do whatever shit they want, their only command being going to sleep early and not drinking any amount of alcohol.

Marco finds himself plopped on the soft surface of one of the ten couches in the living room between Benni and Sami, witnessing the disaster Mario Götze is at playing Fifa as he devours a bag full of candies that someone had managed to sneak inside without anyone noticing.

_It_ _’s honestly ridiculous,_  seems like he’s just pressing all the buttons he’s able to and waiting for some miracle to happen, what Marco actually does sometimes depending on the game he’s playing – and Fifa is not one of them. Marco Reus didn’t get successful as a footballer in his early teenage years like Mario did; however, it made him achieve great things in life – being the best Fifa player to ever walk on Earth is the number one of the list.

“I’m warming up.” Mario raises his – perfectly shaped - eyebrows at Mats, who is sat next to him and has just own the first game, beating him 5-1. You just can’t be good at everything in your life, Marco thinks. “Wait for it, _Hummels_ ”

“Bring it on, _pummelfee_.” He starts the next match, Mario just rolls his eyes at him. “If our thing was Fifa, the coach would not like you half as much.” Everyone in the room laughs, Mario pouts discreetly, sinking in further in the mattress.

He gives up after four minutes, when Mats has just managed to score his fourth goal, Mario fakes yawning before throwing his joystick away. “Ok, that’s it” He stretches his back as he gets up. “I’m going to sleep.” Mats grins. Everyone in there knows he’s going to tease him about it for the next ten years of their lives.

“Marco?” Mario stops in front of him before walking away, Marco looks up.    “Yes.” He murmurs. The seventeen years old boy stands there with such a confidence – Marco wonders how the fuck is that possible - that if he told him that he was the king of Germany himself Marco would have believed it.

“Beat his ass, I’ve heard you’re good at it.”  He points at his joystick tossed on the couch before leaving the room with a teasing smile on his face.  Marco just laughs before sitting next to Mats, where Mario was before. _“Wait for it, Matsi._ _”_

In the corner of the room, Boateng smiles to Marco. He raises his eyebrows at him – Marco shakes his head in denial of anything he can probably be thinking right now, even if it’s too soon for him to be considering anything.

 “I’m happy that everyone recognizes my talent on beating your ass now.”  Mats kicks his feet softly.

_(He does beat Mats_ _’ ass on Fifa that day, sends a message to Mario when it_ _’s way past midnight just to point that out_ _–_ _“I knew I could trust you, marcinho :), he answers after a few minutes._

_In the next day, they pair up together in training. Marco sees Mats and Jerome exchanging knowing looks and cheeky smiles in the other side of the pitch, like they know something that neither Marco nor Mario do._

_“Thanks for beating his ass for me._ _” Mario says, a smirk on his lips. Marco just laughs._

_“You_ _’re welcome._ _” He answers as they make their way to the pitch, surrounded by all his teammates chatting and laughing lively._

_The morning sun against his skin makes him feel at peace_ _– but his heart still beats a little faster when Mario twines their fingers with an easy smile playing on his lips._

[II](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/II-numero-romano). 16.07. 2010

( _Mario Gotze has never get hammered in his entire life, Marco finds out some months after they met._ _“Mario, honestly, I_ _– Is Mats even aware of that? I bet he_ _’s not, he would ha_ _–”_

_“Football stole my teenage years, Marco._ _” He answers casually._ _“That_ _’s what it gets to be so good at playing it._ _”_

_Marco rolls his eyes_ _– he_ _’s pretty sure Mario knows he_ _’s doing it even if they can_ _’t see each other._ _“It takes not drinking tequila to be Kloppo_ _’s pet?_ _”_

_Mario is probably the one rolling eyes now, Marco smiles to himself._ _“Fuck off. I do drink, dickhead, I just never got -_ _”_

_“I_ _’m going to Dortmund._ _”_

_“Just to get me blasted?_ _” Marco knows he_ _’s raising his eyebrows right now_ _– that_ _’s an weird habit of him, expressing himself through his eyebrows, well, Marco thinks, at least that perfectly shaped thing has some practical use._

_“I_ _’m one of your oldest and wisest best friends_ _– it_ _’s my obligation to help you do that._ _” He hears Mario laughing when he says wisest_ _“And I_ _’m coming to your eighteenth birthday and staying with my family after._ _”)_

Marco has never been really fond on extroverts – it’s not his fault, he just can’t bring himself to deal with them _, never mind be friends with those._

He has never been an outgoing person. He’s never been really comfortable around new people – most times standing in awkward silence with his arms on his sides and his muscles all froze when he’s in a crowd full of unknown faces. Mats always says it took him time to get into Marco’s heart. _“It took me time to even believe he had a heart at first._ _”_ He said once, hugging Marco from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder – he slapped him after it.

Mario Götze, however, is an exception.

He texted Mario one week after their first met at the _under twenty-one team_ happened, it was something about Mats, he remembers, but Marco can’t put his finger on exactly what, the following hours they had spent talking erasing that first topic from off his mind easily.  After that, _it just happened._

He’s not sure of when exactly they started spending hours talking in Skype calls, he’s not sure of when he started seeing things that reminded him of Mario everywhere – and looked forward to telling him about all of those through the entire day - he’s not sure of when he started planning on going to Dortmund every time he possibly could.

He’s not sure of when he grew fond on Mario – Kloppo’s pet, the baby one in the team - , but he certainly did it ridiculously fast.

He doesn’t like to think about that. Between them things always happened easily, Marco never thought about the consequences of everything, he felt free and that’s why he loved it the most. He tries to shake the thoughts out of his mind every time he thinks too much about it – about what it might mean, about the knowing smiles on Mats and Jerome’s faces in that very first day.  He focuses on playing on his phone instead of thinking about it as he travels to Dortmund that day.

*

The rain falls heavily when he arrives and the first sight Marco has when the bus lands is Mario under a yellow umbrella.  He notices his look moving from window to window before he finds the one Marco is currently at – he presses his face against the glass as he waves his hand, Mario laughs.

Mario walks closer and gets Marco’s luggage before he has even managed to get out of the bus – he’s spotted by some fans in the meantime, takes a few pictures and signs them autographs, his umbrella tossed on his side.

He’s signing a Dortmund jersey when Marco finally gets next to him. “Uh – can you sign mine too?” He says poking Mario’s left arm, his mouth already curled up in a little smile.

“Yeah.” Mario answers casually, not even turning to look at Marco’s face. “Just wait a minute.” The boy walks away after giving Mario a bone crushing hug and telling him he’s his favourite player ever. Marco coughs, trying to get a little bit of attention before anyone else arrives.  **_“Pummelfee._** ** _”_**

He hears Mario laughing before he finally looks up at him – he smiles when his eyes fall on Marco’s face. “Asshole.” He murmurs before Marco pushes him by the arm, hugging him tightly. The backpack he carries makes it difficult for Mario to wrap his arms around him properly, but he doesn’t seem to care about the odd angle they’re currently at when he buries his face on Marco’s neck.

 “So – “Marco whispers as he nudges Mario’s shoulder “puberty has finally came, you’ve grew a few centimetres.”

Mario just snorts and moves away. _“I missed you too, Marco._ _”_

Marco huffs his hair and pushes him closer again, keeping his arm around his back. “Don’t act grumpy. You’ve just turned eighteen, not _eighty._ _”_

“When you’re in your grave and I’m celebrating my youth, I’ll be the one making age jokes, _Marcinho_.” Mario teases him – Marco squeezes his cheeks in answer. “And you’re more than one month late, in case you forgot it, you have no right to make any jokes." He says before following Marco inside the cab that has just arrived.

*

His mother is really amused by the fact that he’s already visiting, a week earlier than he had previously said he would.

He arrives home when it’s almost noon after dropping Mario at his own place, having just enough time to take a quick shower and change into comfy clothes before the house is full with his family – their voices echoing through the entire place and warming Marco’s heart. Mel hugs him tight, smiling as she looks up at his little brother. “I thought you were not coming until next weekend.”

“Yeah, “ Marco answers as they walk down the stairs to finds his parents already sat around the table, everything put into its place and two empty chairs – one for each of them. 

“I had some meetings earlier so I thought I should came and – yeah.” He sits down, giving Yvvone, who sits right next to him, a kiss in the cheek.

“Mario’s birthday?” Melanie asks casually. His mother raises a questioning eyebrow at both of them.

“Yep. I’m going out around eight, by the way” He declares, earning a disappointed look from his parents in answer to that.

The dinner goes as the ones in time Marco used to live here did – they chat lively, Marco tells them everything going on Mönchengladbach and at some points Mel declares she’s seeing someone now, pretty sure it might be the one. Yvvone and Marco exchange knowing glances, bonding together to tease her about it like they would do in the old times – Marco realises that maybe that’s why they’re the only ones there, not Nico or Yvvo’s husband indeed, to remember the good old times. He likes it.

“You still need to introduce him tough.”

“I will, the next time you come.”

*

Marco sits alone in the entrance steps of Mario’s house – he texts him to let him know he’s there as soon as he arrives, Mario answers back after a few seconds, saying he’s just about to leave, just finishing something.  It takes him five minutes to finish whatever this is, leaving his house with a little smile on his face as he stuffs his keys inside his pockets.

“Let’s go.” He says, greeting him with a smile after getting up. Mario’s hair is styled differently, his locks messier than it use to be, he wears black jeans that hug his thighs perfectly and a light yellow t-shirt. It fits him just right, Marco thinks. 

They walk side by side; Mario keeps both of his hands inside his pockets. The streets are still wet from the raining earlier, and Marco tries to help himself on not purposely stepping on a puddle and splashing water on Mario. He watches him with the corners of his eyes and judging by the grin on his face Marco can tell he’s reading his thoughts right now. _“Do not even think about it._ _”_

They stay silent after it, both enjoying the cold Dortmund breeze against their skin.

Marco’s missed this – he misses those streets and everything about the city, misses the way it makes him feel comfortable, unlike Mönchengladbach until now, where his surroundings are always somehow new and unexpected. Mario gives him a little smile when Marco raises his head to stare the dark night sky above him – there a few stars, two or three Marco can see, it makes him smile despite himself.  Next to him, Mario does the same.

There’s not any sign of queue in the entrance when they arrive in there after ten minutes.

“You’ve got your ID, right?” He holds Mario’s wrist and pushes him back right before they enter the club. Marco just shakes his head and Marco smiles – they can hear the noises inside already, he notices something little different on Mario’s eyes, can’t quite put his finger on what, but he likes it.

He lets go of Mario’s wrist and rests his hands on his hips as he pushes him inside, shaking his head in greet for the security guard, the same old that used to be here back in the times Marco lived in Dortmund.  “ _C_ _’mon  then._ _”_

They walk through a little corridor with no lights at first, when they finally emerge from it, there’s a sea of people – a little spark has started firing Marco’s veins already.

_H_ _ösels_ is still the same as it was the last time Marco visited – the walls are still all painted in black, the dance floor in the middle and surrounded by a few little tables and little stools, the bar in the right corner next to big light projectors that point right to the place where the DJ stays, above everyone else. He smiles despite himself, still remembering the old times.

“First things first, Mar.” He say, pulling Mario by the arm and making him follow him to the bar– Mario’s look goes in every possible direction, analysing every corner of the nightclub. “I can’t dance without alcohol, and you came here for it, so –“he says, reaching out his hands for Mario to give him his document and picking his own on his pocket.

The bartender slides the three shots Marco had asked in Mario’s direction.  He looks up at him as he wraps his fingers around one of them. Marco raises his eyebrows,  doing an encouraging expression; he takes one of the shots to himself and by the time the little cup touches Mario’s lips, he’s already emptied his own.

Mario shuts his eyes close as he swallows it down slowly. He shivers under his gaze and Marco analyses his face, trying to look for any clue of what he’s thinking right now. He brings the next shot to his lips before Marco can think much into it.  When he opens his eyes and smiles, the look on his eyes is still there – and even if he still can’t read into it, he’s still hypnotised. 

“C’mon,” he holds Marco’s hand. “Now you can dance.” His hips are already moving as they walk. Marco tries to mirror it – he knows that alcohol can’t have possibly done its effect already, but he tries to think so instead of wondering if that’s not just _Mario_ _’s_ effect on him.

He hears laughs and moans and nonsense talks as they make their way until the middle of the dance floor, his hands are still entangled with Mario’s when they stop.

The smile on Mario’s face is a completely new one when they part and turn face to face – Marco loves the way the corners of his mouth turn up together with that first look on his eyes, that now seems both determined and kind of dirty – _Dear God_ – at the same time.

*

The next hours pass like minutes on Marco’s mind – he goes to the bar countless other times, but not always accompanied by Mario. He sees him dancing alone with his eyes closed, a big smile plastered on his face, and he has to make himself look away, doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t. He dances too, the vodka shots guiding his slow movements together with the song beat.

There are lights. Red, blue and yellow ones, they’re flashing in front of Marco’s eyes when Mario and him find each other again, and everything seems a little blurred.  His collarbones peek out from the hem of his t-shirt and Marco notices little drops of sweat going down on his neck until they slide down into his collar – he can’t bring himself to look away this time.

Mario grips on his waist using both of his hands before Marco can even realise that he’s _that_ close –he grinds his hips against Marco’s and he doesn’t do anything but watch. Little drops of sweat fall down Mario’s forehead too, he smiles shamelessly as he wraps both of his arms around Marco’s neck. Marco wonders about asking how much shots has Mario had already because, _shit_ _–_ but he can’t form any coherent thought now, never mind a complete sentence.

“Move.” He whispers – his lips touch Marco’s ear when he speaks. Everything just seems _too much._ Some _Shakira_ song Marco cannot recognize plays in the background, Mario sings it in perfect Spanish – _and then Marco starts moving._

He puts his own hands on Mario’s waist and pushes him even closer as he starts shaking his body along with the song beat, something changes in Mario’s look, his smile growing wider. He puts his own hand on top of Marco’s and leads him down – Marco’s fingers run along his back, Mario makes him stop when they reach his butt. _“Fucking hell._ _”_

Mario gets the exact reaction he wanted to. His cheeks are in a new shade of pink, it isn't even close to the colour that takes his face when he laughs of Marco's jokes or stares down the floor when someone compliments him on anything.

When he raises both of his arms in the air Marco still keeps one of his hand around his torso and the other on his butt and Mario moves up and down, he sings his lungs out as he dances ( _I_ _’m addicted to you, porque es un vicio en tu piel_ ). It’s one of the most beautiful sights Marco’s ever seen, for sure.

He never wants it to end. They rest their foreheads together when the song ends; Marco feels Mario’s sweated hair against his skin.  Everything feels too much.

“Marco?” Mario says with an uncertain tone of voice – he has his eyes closed and Marco can’t help but analyse his face, doesn’t matter how creepy it may seem. He runs his thumb over Mario’s flushed cheeks before he says anything else. “Hum?” he murmurs after some seconds, encouraging him to keep on talking.

Mario smiles to himself before saying anything – it doesn’t seem either happy or sad, it’s actually somehow relieved, like he waited to let out this fucking smile for ages. _“I_ _’m gay._ _”_ Mario opens his eyes, the corner of Marco’s lips lift up as he analyses his dilated pupils.

Marco is not one to lie – he won’t say he never thought about this, _he did._ Mario, however, had never brought the topic up despite their teammate’s insinuation, and that was enough to back Marco away, stopping himself every time the words would come to his mouth.

He’s thought about all different scenarios where this could happen, about all different scenes that could follow that exact moment. (He dreamed about kissing Mario down his body, kissing away all his doubts about himself.)

_Mario is the one who kisses him first._ It’s not a proper kiss, both of them have had finest moments – it’s just a touch of lips, Marco has just enough time to taste the tequila on his mouth before he backs away, _Mario's skin is hot under Marco's fingers, and he wants more._

Mario takes a step back and shakes his head. _“Shit_ _”_ he touches him own lips with his fingers like he's just realised what he did. Marco wants to pull him closer, kiss him again and again. _"_ I think I need more alcohol.”

And then he runs.

And everyone around is still singing and dancing and kissing.

But Marco stays still.

 ( _“Where the fuck am I?_ _” is pretty much his first thought after he wakes up to the sound of someone in the kitchen. He analyses the room he_ _’s currently at, realises it is Marco_ _’s house when he spots a few photographs of him and his sisters hanging on the wall._

He’s not really sure of how he ended up on Marco’s couch, or how he managed to get inside one of his sweatpants – just in the sweatpants, no shirt indeed. He smells coffee, but his attempt to get up to follow it is ruined by the aching pain in his head. The last night is a blank in his head, he remembers taking five shots of tequila and Shakira songs, and that’s pretty much everything.

_“Morning._ _”_ Marco smiles as he enters the living room. Like Mario, he wears nothing but sweatpants. Mario tries to look away from his body.  “I’m never ingesting alcohol again.” He says as Marco hands him a mug full of coffee.

“Right.” He holds the plate with pancake as Mario drinks all the content of his mug. Marco stares him with a judgmental face – “What? I need to fucking wake up properly.” Mario argues when he hands it back to Marco and picks the pancake up.

“I can’t remember a thing.” He murmurs as he swallows his food. God, he didn’t know Marco could cook like this. “How did we even get in here?”

“Taxi cab.” Marco takes a sip of his own coffee. “You were singing Britney Spears’ songs and laying on my lap and you almost threw up twice – I thought the driver was about to kick us out, maybe he felt pity and decided that he should at least leave you safe at home.”

“Dear God.” Marco hides his face on his hands, he hears Marco laughing next to him – he’s still evaluating if he wants to laugh along with him or punch him in the face for doing it. “Did I do anything that I might regret today?”

Marco stares at him for some minutes. The sunlight enters through the window directly in Marco’s face, it makes his eyes look even prettier, somehow deeper. _“No_ ,” He stoles the fork from Mario’s hand, eating a small slice of his own pancake. _“You didn_ _’t do anything but dance._ _”_

_Mario smiles relieved, Marco blames himself for letting him go_.)

[III](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/III-numero-romano). 16.07.2011

They don’t see each other as often as Marco wishes they would.

Marco is having good times at Mönchengladbach, finally making himself one of the most important players of the team. Dortmund has just own Bundesliga again and Marco feels himself turning into an excited little kid,  memories from the times when he would be wrapped in black and yellow clothes celebrating Dortmund winning with his dad coming to his mind in flashes.

The camera focus on Mario once when he’s watching their celebration after the last game, he’s hugging Nuri, a huge smile is plastered on his face and his wet jersey sticks to his body, probably because of the beer they had thrown at him – Marco can’t contain his own grin when he sees it, making a mental note to throw a beer mug on Mario himself when they meet the next time.

Caro is a friend of a friend, she starts flirting with him as soon as they meet. She has long blond hair and a defined body, also, she laughs of Marco’s bad jokes, something only Mario has ever managed to do honestly. When they kiss for the first time, it seems sweet – kissing Mario was like standing in the middle of a hurricane, kissing her is like calm waves in the sea - Marco pushes her closer and she lets herself be handled by him. For some reason, she’s surprised when he asks her for a second date after one week.

It turns out the rough game sequence on Dortmund and Marco consolidating himself as a crucial player in the team become a barrier between them. Days in Mönchengladbach pass quickly, he can barely breathe, trying to put up with everything going on his life – including ignoring the thought of Mario’s lips that night. (His mind is being kept busy most of the time, but when the memories come back in the late hours, when he’s laid down waiting for sleep to creep up, it’s hard to shake the thoughts away.)

He thinks about telling Mats once, but he ends up backing away, the thought of someone else knowing about something so oddly intimate between the two of them – even if Mario can’t actually remember it– making him sick to his stomach. They tall weekly though, asking each other now and then how are things going – they share short messages, but it’s enough to let Marco know everything is fine.

Marco knows it doesn’t make sense, that he should actually call Mario, but he blames lack of time in the end, trying to pretend it has nothing to do with the fact that they kissed and that he has turned into a little piece of anxious shit after not being able to get over it properly.

By the time he asks Caro to be his girlfriend, Mario is not even aware she exists – the little amount of texts they’ve shared too painfully short for him to even consider mentioning her name.

Caro and him have completed one month officially together and Marco is sat alone watching Game of Thrones in a Sunday night when he decides it’s time to get his shit together and call him. It takes seconds for Mario to answer. “ _You_ _’re alive._ _”_

“I am.” He answers – God, he misses his voice more than he had imagined. Marco hears some commotion in the background, Mario murmurs _excuse me_ to someone and there’s a few seconds of silence before he speaks up again, now his voice being the only thing Marco is able to hear. “Hi.”

“You’ve won the fucking Bundesliga.” Marco says.  Jon Snow appears on Marco’s screen, but he stills turns the volume down when Mario starts talking again. “And I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” The words slide easily through his tongue, like they were there all along, waiting to be said.  Marco smiles widely, in a mix of happiness and relief because, _oh, fucking finally._   “How have you been?”

“Good, it’s – it’s the best time of my life. There are posters with my name around the city and everyone keeps asking me for autographs and – God, I can’t stop remembering the crowds singing my name and -” He stops, taking a deep breath. 

The way Mario says it, the happiness falling out from his voice, makes the smile on Marco’s face turn into something even bigger. “God, it’s insanely good.”

If it was any other person, Marco thinks, there’s a chance he would be burning in bitter jealousy – it could prove to be kind of difficult to watch as someone else achieves your biggest dreams as a kid – playing for Dortmund, winning Bundesliga in such a young age - but he can’t help himself on not smiling when Mario talks about it, couldn’t be mad at him if he tried to.

“Klopp is about to tattoo your name on his forehead, so I’ve heard.”

“I’d be happy.” Mario laughs – and it’s one of the best sounds Marco’s heard in months too. “I’m considering tattooing his anyways.”

 “God, you’re such a _teacher_ _’s pet_.” He teases, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

 Mario snorts. “And you’re such a jealous brat.”

 “Why would I be jealous of you?”Marco asks a cheeky tone in his voice – his smile so wide now that it hurt his cheeks.

After all this time, it probably should be at awkward at some point, Marco realises. He can’t come up with an reasonable excuse to not calling Mario for this whole time and Mario probably can’t too – it should seem weird to act like they talked just a day ago, but it doesn’t and it _does_ feel like they haven’t spoken just for one day or two.

 “First – “Mario coughs “my hair is way prettier than yours.”

Arya does some crazy shit on television. For the first time in years, Marco Reus ignores Maisie Williams as he looks up at his ceiling and smiles to himself, waiting for Mario to continue.

“Second, - “ Mario stops, Marco guesses he’s planning exactly what to say “In a few years when Kloppo is dead, I’ll be the one getting his inheritance, not you.”

“Yeah,” Marco contains his laugh. “You bet.”

There’s a pause for a few seconds – it’s not slightly awkward, the sound of Mario’s breathe making Marco relax like he’s able to do just in a few times within the last months.

“At least I’m not having my own name tattooed on my skin.” Mario declares after some minutes and laughs softly to himself afterwards. 

“ _Touch_ _é”_ Marco answers, laughing afterwards too.

“I’m coming to Dortmund this weekend.” He announces, tapping his feet in the floor and felling suddenly anxious, the thought of them finally seeing each other again making him happily dizzy.  “Ugh, I’m actually in Memmingen.”

Marco snorts, scowling even though Mario cannot see his expression right now.  “I thought we could meet and – “ he stops. “Visiting your grandparents?”

“Yes.” Mario murmurs. “And coming back just in time training starts again.” He completes. “How long are you staying there?”

“I’m coming back on Sunday.” He declares. “And you, enjoying yourself in there?”

 “Kind of?” He shrugs. “I missed my family and everything but, I – I don’t know. Everything is in a rush and I just want to let myself relax, you know? Which is proving to be kind of impossible with everyone and– yeah, it’s still good anyways, pretty nice to remember the old times when I was just a little kid.” The slightly sad tone in his voce makes Marco’s stomach tighten, and he feels more guilty than usual for not calling him earlier – _weeks_ earlier like he should have done.

“What’s the news in Mönchengladbach anyways?” Mario asks, snapping Marco out of his thoughts.

“Not really, just that – I am actually“ he stops, wondering whether he should say this or not, _well_ , maybe it’s about time. In the end, Mario’s nothing to do with who he’s making out with – “seeing someone.”

All he hears for some seconds is Mario’s breathing again – this time, it seems terribly awkward, the air around him seems suddenly stuffy as he waits for some answer from him. “What?” He says slowly, like he’s acting carefully.

 “Yeah, I know, right?” Sometimes he can’t believe it too.

“What?” Mario repeats. “When did – “he stops for some seconds, like he’s trying to properly put his words together, “when did that happen?”

“We met three months ago.” Mario doesn’t answer anything – it makes Marco uncertain of what to say. Fuck. “She’s nice, funny and light-hearted, you two would get along pretty well.”

“Sure.” Mario’s voice sounds odd when he speaks again, like there’s something stuck on his throat. “What’s her name?”

“Carolin.” Marco says, not planning to continue on talking about this at all, actually wanting to hide under his blankets and pretend he never brought that topic up. “How did you meet?”

“One friend of mine was friends with her and well, same old thing.” He answers drily.

“Watching Game of Thrones tonight?”

“No.” Mario stills seems backed away – the lively tone of his voice long gone by now. “I was busy until you called. Are you bringing her to visit your parents?” He says, bringing the subject back against Marco’s will.

Marco swallows thickly before talking again. “I don’t think so.”

 Marco presses the buttons to raise the volume up again – someone is fighting now, blood dropping down someone’s face, but he can’t even figure out the reasons behind it, too lost on his conversation with Mario to pay attention to it.

“Look, Marco, I – “Mario stops for a moment. “I need to go.” His voice sounds somehow raw now – Marco is attempted to ask what the fuck just happened, but he chooses over it, realises he should not start any kind of interrogation after their first real conversation in months. 

“Oh, - “he prays his voice won’t give away his feelings “- fine then.”

He starts thinking about that night again before he can help himself on not to. _Mario_ _’s lips. Tequila. Shakira. Do not think about it_.  He’s tempted to punch himself in the face multiple times – or maybe punch Mario’s face as well. 

 “I’m calling you tomorrow.” He finally declares before he hangs up for good– well, fuck it if he seems needy, _he is._

_Mario making his way down Marco_ _’s body, kissing him breathless if he had made him stay. Do not think about it._

“I’m picking up your calls tomorrow.” Mario’s voice softens, but he stills seems weird in some way. “Same time?”

Mario just murmurs a quick yes before hanging up. Game of Thrones if already over when the call ends and the silence that takes over his living room afterwards makes Marco want to run. _Do not think about it._

He texts Caro, she says she’ll be arriving within ten minutes, that she’s just entered the cab. The surprised look on her face when Marco kisses her until they’re out of breath as soon as the door is open makes the corner of his mouth lift up.

_Mario_ _’s hand down his back, his lips against his ear. Do not think about it_

They don’t even talk as they make their way to Marco’s bedroom – Caro walks backwards, Marco has one of his hands on her waist and the other rests on her butt, her fingers are entangled around his blond locks and by the time they reach his bed she’s just on her underwear.

She sighs when Marco kisses the spot right under her ear, her mouth hangs open and he knows she’s about to say something before she even starts.  “Marco – “she takes a deep breath when he goes down her neck, sucking harshly on one specific point.  “What is -” He uses his arms to lift himself and reach her mouth, using all of his skills to make it seem as dirty as he wants to as he licks into her mouth. She doesn’t say anything after it.

Caro buries her nails on his back when he hits one particular spot inside her and the sound she makes is the last thing he hears before his vision blurs as he comes - she kisses him before he slips away and Marco can still feel the goose bumps on her skin.  She stays still when he gets up and walks into the bathroom.

When he returns, she has her eyes closed – Caro lays down on her back, a little smile playing on her lips, and the curves of her body are a sight to behold, for sure. “How was your night?” He whispers, lying down next to her and covering their naked bodies with a thin blanket.

“Good.” She scoots closer to him and finds her place resting against his chest. Her discarded fancy dress is tossed away on the floor. “Yours?” Her voice sounds sleepy.

“I’ve talked to Mar, finally.” She looks up at him with a smile on her face “He – “Marco stops for a few seconds, like the words are stuck on his throat, she waits for him to continue with an satisfied look on her eyes _._ _“He says he_ _’s looking forward to meet you._ _”_

“Yeah, me too.”

The last things in his mind before sleep creeps up to him is Mario’s lips against his – Caro’s perfume overwhelms his senses, he tries focus on the sweet smell of her shampoo over the taste of Mario’s mouth that night.

[IV](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/IV-numero-romano). 16.07. _2012_

In the end, Marco thinks every little thing was part of an act they didn’t know they were playing. From the way Caro and him fight and agree to have a break from how Mario slides his hands down his back slowly, pulling him closer. He believes it was all involuntary, but still somehow perfectly timed – some call it destiny.

He’s lost in a mess of interviews, medical exams and getting everything done in his new house when Mats decides to throw a happy hour, inviting just close Dortmund friends.

Mario makes his mission that night to make Marco relax, sliding shot after shot of vodka to his direction the entire time and giving him reassuring smiles that warm his heart a little – he even agrees to play Fifa at some point, and Marco is happy that at least he does his job properly and beats him 6-1.

Marco can’t remember how they ended up alone on Mats balcony, or why he got a little closer to Mario than he should have after all the beer they had had, but he remembers the taste of Mario’s mouth against his, remember the way he whispered his name almost like a praise in the dark windy night.

It was different from the first time. Mario’s mouth still tasted like the alcohol he had had earlier, everything seemed a little blurred and it still felt like there was fire running on Marco’s veins – but now there was no hurry, it was easier and way better than before, both of them taking their times to enjoy it properly.  And Mario doesn’t run away.

_“I know_.” He had said when Mario opened his mouth to start speaking when they parted. “Let’s just – “ and then he was kissing him again, pulling him closer and making his way down Mario’s neck now.

The next day was a mix of smiles and awkward looks. They kiss again at the end of the night– neither of them starts any kind of discussion about it, the only thing to come out of their mouths are low moans muffled by each other mouths.

Marco keeps it casual – they act like they always did in training, but when Mario clings onto him when they’re celebrating a goal, something inside feels different – Marco can’t see if this is good or not, maybe both at the same time, maybe he’s about to figure it out it any moment.

Somehow Mats senses there’s something going on. “What happened?” He corners Marco when he’s just about to leave after the last training of his first week.

“Hum?” He answers, his features ndicating his confusion.

“You and Mario. Something happened.” He says, a determined look on his eyes.

“Nothing happened.” Marco answers too soon for Mats to believe he’s saying the truth – he doesn’t insist on talking about it though, changing the subject to something else even if there’s still a knowing smile on his lips.

Marco finds himself laying on his bed surrounded by his mess and with his thoughts full of Mario Götze that night. Yvvone messages him at some point, saying their mother and her have just decided they’re all having dinner at his house the next day, no way to deny it. He doesn’t bother to try, agrees immediately, just later realising he’ll need to clean everything up if he’s throwing any kind of reunion at his place.

*

His alarm goes on when it’s seven in the morning – Marco ignores it until it’s eight, too lazy to make himself go out of the bed when he still has his counted days off.  He takes his time to get up, slowly stretching his arms as he makes the way out of bed and into his bedroom.

He calls Mario when it’s nine, his name being the only one to pop up in his head when he thinks that he might need to get some help in here if he wants to get everything done before it’s evening.

 Mario surprisingly picks it up after one ring and agrees immediately. When he arrives there, Marco is still on his grey old pyjama. “Did you have any breakfast?”

“Yeah, on my way.” He answers, sitting down between the two boxes placed on Marco’s couch. “Where are we getting started?”

“How are you even real ? I mean, it’s still ten in the morning – get at least grumpy ” He says in the middle of biting a slice of bread and taking a sip of his coffee. Mario crinkles his nose.

A little smile appears on Mario’s face when he hears that, but he chooses to ignore Marco’s remark, getting up instead and walking into the corridor. “How did you even manage to sleep here? I mean, if your bedroom is as messed up as the rest of it seems, we’ve got serious issues.”

“My bed has been pretty much a single island in my bedroom.”  He hears Mario laughing as he makes his way to his room.

“Yeah, we’ve got serious issues.” He says after a few seconds of silence.

Marco laughs before following him. Mario stands in front of the opened door, his mouth hanging up as he stares down at the thousands of boxes and packages in the floor.

“You agreed to help.” Marco says, a smirk playing on his lips when Mario raises his eyebrows, turning back to look at him.

*

“This looked way funnier in the movies.” Mario says as he unpacks what seems to be the thousandth box he sees that day. Marco has to make himself look away from the single drop of sweat falling down Mario’s neck into his collar.

 “You looked way too excited about this in the morning” Marco says as he takes his clothes out of his suitcase and puts it into his new wardrobe, looking anywhere else but Mario.

“I didn’t know you had so many stuff in here.” Mario snorts “And I didn’t know it would be so fucking hot today.”

“You’re not that rich, I mean – how the fuck do you own so many things? We could build a fort in here if we wanted to.” Mario kicks away the fourth box he had emptied that day

“Was that a _rea_ l idea? Because if yes, I’m _totally_ on.” Mario throws one of Marco’s socks at him in answer to that. “And I’m pretty sure I have a pirate costume somewhere in here, we could give it some use.”

 Marco regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

He thinks unspeakable things – dear God, he shakes the thought out of his mind within seconds, If there’s one thing he doesn’t need right now is fantasying about Mario, his best friend, who stands in front of him wearing nothing but shorts, and him doing _things_ on costumes and -.   “Do your work.” Marco catches the T-shirt Mario throws at him after. “We’re having a beer afterwards.”

“I’m kicking your ass on Fifa afterwards.” Marco points out, making Mario rolls his eyes. “And then we’re having a beer.”

Mario ignores him, kneeing on the floor to pick up one last thing from the box he’s working at. Marco notices a photograph in his hands. ‘”Oh.”

“What?” Marco leaves whatever he’s doing and walks to Mario’s side, his head almost resting against his shoulder as he tries to look the photo in his hand.

“Oh.” He says, taking the photograph from him.   “What a bunch of idiots.” He murmurs, smiling to himself.

There are they – Robin, Marcel and him.

They all have a little red cup on their hands, probably with some content related to alcohol, Marco guesses by the happy looks on their faces. Robin is in the middle, his arms thrown around his friends as he pulls him closer, a huge smile playing on his lips.

“How old were you?” Mario asks, curiosity taking him full.

“Fourteen, fifteen maybe.”

Marco introduced them when he went to Dortmund visiting his family once.

He had asked Mario out for dinner together with both of them – they ended up exchanging ridiculous stories Marco had put himself into as he stayed silent, an angry look on his face and a pout on his lips.  

Marcel and Robin developed this habit of teasing the hell out of Marco about his relationship with Mario after that, saying he was truly whipped like he had never been before in any kind of relationship – Marco would make them shut up in the end, rolling his eyes every time they approached the topic.

_“Why did your mom let you do **that** to your air, Marco?_ _”_ Mario points at the blond locks on Marco’s hair contrasting to the rest of it, darker and natural, combined to the way he had styled it – a ridiculous topknot with such a great amount of hair gel that it literary _shines_.

Marco throws the picture right on his face after he says it– it’s not _that_ ugly, he has done worse during teenage years, if he’s being honest. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.” He says, scowling even though the corners of his mouth are curled up in a little smile. Mario throws his head back as he laughs, it makes the mark Marco has left on his neck totally visible.

“My mother is having dinner here tonight, by the way, you can stay if you want to.” He says, remembering why they’re actually doing all of this in the end.

“No, I don’t think I – “Mario answers, a surprised expression taking all his face as he shakes his head in denial.

“Don’t make a big deal of it – my mother is a hell of a cooker, you should stay and try. And I made you sit here to help me the entire day, it’s your reward.” He laughs, in front of him, Mario seems to relax.

“When is she coming?”

He checks his watch before answering, trying to focus on Mario’s question instead of the hickey – that seems to be shining in front of his eyes now, a constant reminder of what he had done _and is still able to do_ \- on his skin.  “In three hours, I guess.”

“Shit, “he raises his collar to his nose, smelling it in. “I stink.” He says, a disgusted expression on his face.

“You can have a shower. There are cleans towels in the bathroom and I’m pretty sure there’s some t-shirt that belongs to you tossed inside my wardrobe.”

Somewhere inside, deep down in his mind, Marco feels tempted to follow him. _Dear God._

*

His mother takes goulash. Obviously.

His parents arrive when it’s a little past seven, Mel and Nico by their side and a glass bowl on his mother’s hands. Mario has just put on his shirt when the doorbell rings. “Yep, that’s probably them.” Marco answers before he can ask anything, already walking to the door.

Nico jumps on Marco as soon as the door is open, and he barks a laugh as he wraps his arms around his nephew to hold him properly, leaving a kiss on his cheek after he does so. “Where’s Yvvo?”

“On her way with Max.” His father answers, closing the door behind him.

His mother hugs him tight, Nico in the middle of both of them, giggling as he wraps his little arms around their necks. Mel goes next, kissing his cheek as his mother goes walking to the dining room, probably finding Mario there.

“Oh,” Marco hears her saying. “ _Mario_.” In front of him, Mel’s lips turn up in a little smile; his dad raises his eyebrows in question before he starts walking.

When he gets there, his mother kissing Mario’s cheek, a little smile on her lips as she does it – Mario stands there, am embarrassed smile on his face as red takes over his cheeks  “Marco told me I could stay and – “

“Yeah, it’s fine, I was looking forward to meet you properly.” She rests her arms around his back. Mario is between surprise and happiness, Marco can tell by the look on his face now – he can’t contain his amused grin after that, watching as every member of his family, including Nico, greet Mario with a soft smile.

*

Mario and his dad seem to have a lot of common interests.  A lot. Nico seems also very keen on chatting with them.

They all sit on Marco’s living room, around a big glass table filled with foods that both his mother and Yvvone had taken. Being like that is easy-going – they laugh most of the time, sharing little jokes and starting new conversations every time the last one dies.

Mario tells them everything about Dortmund – maybe that’s what gets Marco’s dad to like him – and how he thinks it will fit Marco perfectly. They have desert after everyone finishes their meals, a chocolate cake Yvoone had made especially for Marco. “Don’t get used to it.” She says when Marco thanks her hugging him from behind.

His mother and him head to the balcony after a few minutes, sitting alone in the chairs she had chosen for him a few weeks earlier when he declared he wasn’t _adult enough_ to do all of this by himself.

 “There’s no need to hide it, Marco.” His mother says after some minutes, staring down at him with a soft smile playing on her lips. “What?” He answers, looking up at her.

She laughs. “ _Mario._ _”_

“Hum?” She raises her eyebrows when he keeps the confused expression on his face – he’s pretty sure he knows what she means, but he prefers not to, trying to ignore the thought of Mario and him in the back of his mind. “I’m not – “

“I thought we were past it by now, the hiding thing.” She says, a knowing look on her eyes now. The wind makes Marco shiver under her gaze. 

“No, there’s no – “

“Mel noticed it too.  She nudged my feet under the table at some point and when I looked up and saw your face next to her I just – “ She smiles. “I knew what she meant.”

“No, mom, we – “she gives him an irritated look. “ _We_ _’re friends_.”

“Sure then.” She shakes her head up and down slowly, but her lips are still curled up in a little ironical smile – Marco can’t help himself on not mirroring it. _“Mom._ _”_

“Where is he exactly?” She asks, turning back to watch the living room through the glass door.

“Playing with Nico, I guess.” He says, concluding it based on the sound of a mix of Nico’s and Mario’s laughs coming from inside.

“Nice. And where did heacutally spend the entire day?”

“Here. Helping me settling down and -” He stops himself when the little smile on her mouth turns into a full grin – she already knows where he spent the day.

“Nice.” She takes a sip of her juice. Marco can’t contain the low laugh he lets out.  “It’s not like that.” _But maybe it could be_ , he thinks.

She chooses to ignore his comment. “Is he staying for the night?”

“I don’t think so.” Marco shrugs.

“He should.”

_“Mom._ _”_

“It’s just an advice – it’s still up to you in the end. I just like him, very, very much.”

“I – “ he laughs softly to himself, he might as well give up now, knows her well enough to be certain that she isn’t letting it go easily . “I’ll figure it out at some point then.”

His mother twines their finger together and squeezes his hand, Marco lets his head rest on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

*

Yvvone hugs him tight again before they leave. “I like him.” She whispers against his ear, Marco smiles despite himself, unable to hold on the grunge he once planned to put up when his mother approached the topic earlier. “Me too.” He chooses to say, lingering his fingers on her back as she lets out a low laugh before walking away into her car.

Melanie is to follow, wrapping his arms around him an putting her head right above Marco’s chin. “I missed you.” She says before walking away – even though she doesn’t mention Mario’s name, Marco is able to read her look when she turns his head to stare him one last time before shutting the car door close, her lips curling  up into a teasing smile too.

Nico jumps on him before Marco can even process what’s going on – that’s an habit they have, Marco realises - and he murmurs something about missing his uncle and being happy that he’s back, Marco’s only answer is hugging him even tighter, tempted to try to steal this little ball of energy and blonde hair away from Yvvone.  “See you soon, buddy.” He says before his nephew walks away, a huge smile on his face as he waves.

Marco’s dad pats his back as he walks away, giving him a big smile before entering his car. His mother is the last one to leave, she gives him a bone crush hug,  murmuring that she loves his new house – though she would have preferred if he stayed with them, she reasons. “And I love your _friend_ too.” She completes before walking away. Marco waves as he watches the car disappearing into the night.

He takes a deep breath before entering his own house again, keeping Yvvo’s and his mother’s words in mind.

He opens the door again to find Mario casually laid on his couch, checking something at his phone. Marco takes a deep breath before starts walking to his direction.

 When Mario looks up from his phone and notices he’s there, he’s just a step away from him, ready to invade his personal space without shame. Marco carefully throws himself on top of him, placing his legs on Mario’s side and wrapping one of his arms casually around his torso as he makes himself comfortable. Mario just watches as he shifts on top of him.

“I think I need to – “Mario starts saying, but Marco muffles his words with a short kiss.

“Maybe we should talk about it.” He whisper when they part, sliding his hand to Mario’s waist and pulling him even closer. “I mean, not now,” Mario raises an eyebrow at him and Marco erases that fucking knowing grin from off his face leaving a peck on his lips again.  “Because I think we have a few better things to do. But we should.”

Mario smiles against his lips. “Yeah, we should.” He says, wrapping his arms around Marco’s neck.

“You’re freaking out inside, aren’t you?” He asks, biting his lips, because he knows Marco too well not to.

“Maybe.” Marco grins, burying his face on Mario’s neck – he smells like a mix of Marco’s cologne and soap, it sends a shiver down his spine.

“Try not to think much about it.” Mario adjusts himself under him until his legs are wrapped around Marco, whose forehead is against his collarbones now.  “I can’t make any promises.” He murmurs.

“Well. I can help with that at least.” He puts his index finger on Marco’s shin, lifting his head until he can touch his lips with his own, pressing his words against his mouth and pulling him closer using his legs until their hips are lined up.

“Let’s – “he gasps, the weight of what he’s doing in that exact moment too big. “Let’s go to my bedroom.” He twines their fingers together, getting up and pulling Mario with him rather too quick. They make their way to Marco’s bedroom as fast as they can, keeping their fingers linked and their mouths touching most of the time.

By the time Marco’s legs hit his bed and Mario pushes him down until he’s fully on top of him, his heartbeat is too fast and he’s almost sure he’s going to throw up at any moment. “Stop thinking.” Marco whispers, biting his ear lobe softly. It’s kind of easy to forget anything after that.

The sounds he makes when Mario kisses his way down his body that night are totally involuntary too – not that he gives a fuck, especially when Mario responds to those biting and sucking his sweated skin even more harshly than before.

*

“Text your brother to let him know you’re staying.” Marco whispers late in the night, his voice still horse and his breath too quick, out of his control – Mario murmurs that he’ll do it later, his lips move against Marco’s chest as he does so, and he pulls him closer, burying his face on Mario’s sweated hair.

_Fucking finallyy._

[V](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/V-numero-romano). 16.07. _2013_

The irony is that his wall is painted in yellow. Right facing his bed, a light yellow wall where his television is placed, above a shelf filled with old books and photographs of family and friends – _and Marco._

It took Fabian two weeks to find the right place – close enough to both Allianz and the place he had found himself a good job that both he and Mario would be able to walk if it’s needed, the complex is quiet, the manager had assured, and the security was good enough that no paparazzi’s would be able to enter.

There are two bedrooms right in front of each other – one for Fabian and a suite for Ann and Mario to share. They decide to hire a housekeeper just to help them organizing everything, an old lady who keeps giving Mario smiles that warm his heart, like she knows he’s in need of affection right now – and maybe she does know, the news about how the Dortmund fans are treating him on the first page of most newspapers.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and he’s laid on his bed, Ann sat next to him and their large window open to let the sunlight go inside – the fucking yellow wall seems even brighter in front of him, it makes him feel like throwing up.

“You need new furniture.” She says at some point, a little smile on hernlips and an excited look on her eyes and Mario remembers it, Ann _-Kathrin is an IKEA enthusiastic_ – he figured out 500 Days of Summer was the reason behind it a few weeks ago, when she made him sat through the entire movie on a rainy Sunday night.

“And we have three different IKEA options in Munich to choose as we want to.” She completes getting up and walking to him; Mario hides his face on his pillow, lying on his belly and turning his look away from Ann.

“Mario,” She throws herself on top of him, he mutters something about her crushing him to death – she ignores his protests and makes herself comfortable as she rests her chin on his shoulder. “You cannot spend the rest of your life inside your bedroom and drooling on your pillow because of a bad break up.” Ann whispers.

He raises his head a little to make sure she’ll understand what he’s saying. “Fuck off.” _He can._

“I’m serious.” Ann slaps his right arm softly. “Get your shit together.”

He doesn’t ever answer.  “You can do better than Marco.” She reasons, a cheeky tone on her voice.

 “I cannot.” Mario buries his face on his pillow again. “I’m a hundred per cent sure I cannot do any better than him.”

“You can if you want to.” She gets of his back and lays down next to him. Mario notices the way her eyebrows are lined up and her forehead is crinkled when she looks at him – he knows she’s worried even if the cheeky smile on her face shows the opposite of it. “Well, does it look like I want to?”  He answers, moving himself until he’s lying on his back now, staring the white ceiling.

That’s enough to erase the grin from her face.

 “ _God_ , Mario.” He sees her running her hands down her face,  guesses she’s about to give up of him at any moment when he notices the tired features of her face.

The corners of his mouth lift up in a little smile– it’s not slightly happy, bitter instead, a mix of hopeless sadness and anger that kind of makes him want to laugh of himself because _how did he managed to screw up this good?_

“You know I love you, right?” She murmurs after some minutes of silence.

“Yeah,” Ann gets closer, resting her cheeks on his chest “I love you too.”

“And you _d_ o know you’ll make it, right?” She traces unknown patterns on his arms. He won’t, he knows he won’t make it.

_“I know._ _”_ He answers though, running his finger trough her brown locks.

“Mar, I – “She probably notices the uncertain tone of his voice or the weird look on his eyes, Ann squeezes his hand before continuing “ – I _know_ you’ll make it.”

She was also the first one to know about his decision – supported him since the first time he told her he was moving to Munich, declaring she was there for him no matter what. Mario knew what she meant.

When he arrived at home that night, Ann was there. She sat in the living room scrolling down her phone screen and she stopped it as soon as Mario opened the door. Both of them didn’t say anything, Ann hugged him tight and he hid his face on her neck, she murmured something about loving him. He opened his mouth later that night, when he laid on Ann’s lap and she had her finger buried in his hair. _“God, I fucked up_ _”-_ for him, it summarized everything he needed to tell anyone.

The pain in Marco’s eyes did not leave his mind for the next week – the way it seemed like he had just been burned when Mario told him, murmuring the words in shame. _“I_ _’m leaving to Munich._ _”_ He had been frozen and speechless for some minutes, when Mario tried to reach for his hand tough, he backed away – he looked so fucking hurt, his expression almost digusted.

He ran away after that, babbling something about Mario not loving him – l _eaving him for fucking Bayern Munich, between all those fucking teams_ _–_ and them being over. He avoided him for an entire week after that, neither saying a word directed to him or looking at his eyes.

It was over.

 “You will.” It feels like there’s something stuck in his throat. “You will find someone else or you two will end up together at some point – he’ll call, he’ll beg, you’ll kiss and things will be alright.”  She whispers pinching Mario’s cheeks – he gives her a little smile in answer to that.  “You’re not some Nicholas Sparks’ character, it will end up fine, for sure.”

He barks a laugh, sincere this time. “I love you, Ann. I really, _really_ , do.”

“I know.” They stay like that for some minutes, wrapped around each other as Mario tries to erase his thoughts from his mind, trying to focus on following Ann’s breath instead,  in attempt to stabilize his own.

She looks up at Mario, a pleading look on her eyes.  “C’mon, we do need to buy you new furniture.” She says, jumping out of the bed.

She holds Mario’s hand and pushes him along with her – he thinks about acting against it, he thinks about arguing and making her let him stay laid in there through the whole day as he thinks about his awful life choices, but he knows it’s not worth it.

“Fine.” He says.

*

IKEA is not their first destiny, they stop by a Chinese restaurant two blocks away from Mario’s house – one more point to Fabian for that. . Ann makes an angry expression when Mario makes her enter it, reasoning it’s not even night yet for them to have dinner, still six pm. “I need Chinese food, like, right now.” He holds her hand. “It’ll heal my heart.”

Ann laughs, giving in. “I hope so.”

They chose a table in the back of the restaurant.  They both notice the camera flash going on a few minutes after arrive, Mario isn’t even bothered by that, too overwhelmed by all his feelings to considering telling the paparazzi to _fucking back away, please._  

 “Look – “ Ann types something on her phone as Marco asks for their food “I’ve made research.” She hands him her phone as soon as the waiter leaves.

“I cannot fucking believe you, Ann Kathrin Brömmel.” The smile on her face reminds Mario of a kid after getting caught doing something they should not – like when Felix and him broke the window playing football inside their house. He actually _can_ believe her.

There’s a list of Munich gay clubs on Google Search, Mario thinks there are at least ten of those.  “I thought we should try all of them – there’s one right next to your house, actually.” She says, playing with her hair casually.

_“Ann._ _”_ Mario smiles, raising his eyebrows when he looks at her.

“I really am not kidding.” She takes her phone back. “There are male strippers in one of them, _male strippers_ – I’m so into it.”

_“Ann Kathrin and Mario G_ _ötze spotted walking into a gay club together_ _– find out more about it!_ _”_ Ann gives Mario his favourite laugh in answer to that – it’s loud and shameless, she doesn’t hold back, makes those awful noises everyone in the world does though they try to hide it.

“I can picture the news in Kicker – everyone would go insane.” _And Marco would laugh_ , he thinks.

They stay silent for some minutes when the waiter brings their food – the corners of Ann’s mouth are still lifted up shyly.  “I’m serious though.”

“Maybe we’re trying it next week then.” He fills is mouth with rice – the surprised look on her face when he accepts it without further arguments is the best things he’s seen since he arrived in Munich.  “Yeah, for sure.” Her smiles grows and Mario can’t contain his own too.

They’re spotted by a few fans at some points – in the restaurant, it happens twice, in IKEA, none, happily. Mario is sure Ann didn’t put on her high heels just to be able to run from cubicle from cubicle as soon as they enter, he carries her bag and follows her without any protest.

“I thought.” Ann stops when she gets into one of the thousand bedrooms. She throws herself on the bed – “I thought I was the one who should be looking for furniture.” Mario smiles cheekily.

“Well – “He sits next to her and Ann looks up at him. “You should, but you’re nothing but a boring ass who can’t seem to enjoy this paradise properly.” She pushes him down to lay next to her.

“Five hundred days of Ann Kath – “

“Shut up.” Ann muffles what Mario is about to say using her right hand. Some attendant passes by them, an astonished look on his eyes when he realises it’s Mario right in front of him – he doesn’t do anything tough, chuckles light and keeps on walking, choosing not to bother.

“I can be your _Tom Hansen_.” He murmurs after some seconds, his lips still touching her sweated skin as he speaks.  “Shut up, Mario.

He bites her hand gently before barking a laugh. “Idiot.” She says, taking her hand away from his face.

“And Tom was a pain in the ass.” She points out, a smirk still on her face. “We’re going sightseeing tomorrow, by the way.”

“Really?” Mario asks. She twines their fingers together and raises their hands in the air, analysing it with a little smile on her face. Her nails are painted in light yellow too.

“Hofbräuhaus is at the top of the list I’ve made.” She declares and Mario turns his head to properly look at her, a smirk on his lips now mirroring hers.

 The offer of getting drunk in one of the most famous Munich places after the worst break up for his entire life is definitely what he needs right now. “Good.”

 “Maybe Englischer is a good idea as well, we could have lunch in there, enjoy Munich properly.” She says, her tone of voice between questioning and affirming and the look on her eyes showing that she’s still uncertain if Mario is about to accept that offer too.

 “Of course.” He smiles, squeezing her hands.

“Fine then.” She says, taking a relieved breath. Mario watches her chest going up and down as she breaths, her lips still curled up in a little smile and their fingers still linked together next to their bodies.

“ _I_ _’m so glad I have you._ _”_

“Yeah, me too.”

_(They do go the gay club_ _– with a lot of male strippers, fucking hell_ _– in the next week. Mario swallows shot after shot of tequila. They dance all night, Ann right next to him moving her body up and down to the song beat. Shakira starts playing some point and Mario_ _’s pretty sure he_ _’s having some kind of d_ _éj_ _à vu at that right moment, Marco_ _’s lips coming up to his mind despite himself, the thought of feeling his skin under his fingers making his entire body seems like it_ _’s on fire._

_It will be fine.)_

[VI](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/VI-numero-romano). 16.07. _2014_

Mario personally likes summer breaks better than winter ones, he always did, even when he was back in school, and Ann is just like him. They both get ridiculously excited when they plan their holidays together – Ibiza is the greatest of them, Ann is the one who organizes everything, she buys them the plane tickets and books rooms in the nicest hotel she can find.

She tries to keep it neutral, tries to convince the hotel staff on making it quiet – offers them some money in exchange to not calling any paparazzi’s about Mario’s arrival in there. However, Marco is the one who is most thankful for it, the thought of camera flashes around them when he sees Mario for the first time in one month not amusing at all.. Ann makes a list of what to do in Ibiza – she slaps Mario’s face softly when he adds _getting laid_ to the bottom of it. “That’s just for the two of you.”

“As if you’re not going to find yourself some hot man a ditch to his side at night.” He says, making Ann bark a laugh before she rolls her eyes at his remark – even if this is the obvious truth.

Mario likes Ibiza’s sunny days better than Brazilian ones – maybe it’s related to the fact that he doesn’t have time to visit half as much beaches as Ann and his mother do in Brazil, maybe it’s related to the fact that he doesn’t have Marco’s lips against his skin or his hands around his ass in there.

There’s a big smile plastered on Marco’s face when he opens the door and walks inside their bedroom – which is right in front of Ann’s single one. Marco’s luggage rests opened next to their bed, there’s a few t-shirts tossed on the armchair and Marco himself is laid on the bed, his feet in a blue cast and on the top of a pile of cushions.

“Don’t move.” Mario raises his finger in the air and says, putting on the best bossy look he can when Marco starts using his arms like a support in an attempt to lift up. He takes off his backpack and lets it fall on the floor next to his duffel bag before he walks in his direction.

Mario carefully crawls on top of him – he tries his best not to even touch Marco’s ankle. “I missed you.” Marco murmurs, his face buried on Mario’s neck.

“Me too.” He puts his hands on Marco’s chin and raises his head to make him look at his eyes – Marco smiles softly and he pulls him closer, greeting him with a soft and slow kiss that grows into something deeper before Mario can think much into it.

“I – “ Marco catches his mouth again before he can continue. “I want to go out today.”

Marco grunts, making a sad face and burying his face on Mario’s neck again, this time holding his waist harder, like Mario’s about to run away if he doesn’t.

“I’m not spending my first day on _sunny Ibiza_ inside our bedroom, Marco.” He says, leaving a soft kiss on Marco’s head.

“ _Having sex_ inside our bedroom.” Marco looks up with a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

“We can have sex when we come back.” Marco pouts. “And we can make out in the beach, or in the yatch.”

“Yeah, sure we can.” Marco smiles ironically, rolling his eyes, and Mario is sure that he is remembering all those times when Mario’s paranoia got the better of him – when they didn’t even go out together for shopping together in Dortmund because he thought it was too risky. “We’re going out, stop being grumpy.”

Marco groans before pushing Mario out of his lap to the soft mattress under them. The white sheets contrast with his tanned skin. “I hate you sometimes.” Marco murmurs, getting up and walking into the bathroom at the same time he picks one of his t-shirts on the floor.

“You love me.” Mario shouts, hiding his face on the pillow afterwards, smelling Marco’s scent on it. “And use sunscreen.”

“Fuck off.”

*

Ann arrives half an hour late – Marco spends twenty minutes of it reasoning that they could have stayed inside doing _whatever_ they wanted, rolling his eyes when Mario tells him to shut up. “I’ll make it up to you later.” He says, running the tip of his finger down Marco’s leg discreetly under the table they’re sitting - Marco shivers under his touch and Mario gives him an amused smile when he gives up of looking away from him, trying and failing miserably to hide his flushed cheeks.

She greets them with the best apologetic smile she can put up, sitting next to Marco “Sorry, I kind of got busy in the way.”

“Busy?” Mario asks, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his orange juice and nudging her feet.

“Yeah, busy.” She declares, the look on his eyes tells Mario to shut the fuck up. He smiles, looking down to Marco, who has the same teasing look as him on his face.

“C’mon, let’s go.” She says before any of them can get another word in this.

*

They walk down the beach together, Marco taking every step carefully not to stumble on anything, Mario watching him out carefully. Ann tells them everything about the beaches she visited and the awesome foods she tried, says she wants to visit Brazil again – Mario looks for any sign of sadness on Marco’s eyes as he hears her saying it, he can’t find it tough, just the usual calmness.

Mario doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking when he decides he’s too tired to continue, sitting down in the sand a few meters away from the water. 

Ann rests her head on Marco’s shoulder. Mario can’t remember a time when they didn’t get along well – can’t even remember how he used to put up with that. “We’ve just walked down the beach for more than one hour, and it seems like you’re ready to a fucking photo-shoot, Ann.”

“I can’t help it.” She laughs, Marco wraps his arms around her back, pulling her closer, and it makes Mario smile despite himself.  Mario doesn’t know exactly when it became something – when the three of them became _them,_ not just Mario and Ann or Mario and Marco, but Mario, Marco and Ann.

Maybe Ann is the sobriety both of them need, he guesses, what pushes them out of the sea when they’re too lost drowning in each other to think of anything else, the only one who is not fully amused by their feelings to actually make something when things don’t go well.  Ann was the one to fix the damage when they were too broke to think about it – and too proud.

She called Marco on a Tuesday night after three months they had been living in Munich, when Mario was out with Thomas and Thiago to have a beer.  “Ann Kathrin?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” She answers casually, like it’s a common thing for her to call him in the middle of the week – or any time at all.

“What do you want?”

“You to stop being a dick.” He snorts, loud enough for her to hear it. “Don’t try the douchebag move on me too, I know you’re a slightly decent human being, Mario’s convinced me.” She completes.

Marco stays silent, still trying to understand what the fuck is going on.

“Mario is going to visit his parents this weekend.” She says.

“Good.” Despite the fact that Ann cannot see him, he shrugs, faking all the coldness he’s capable of – which is not much when it comes to Mario.

“Make it right, Marco.” She says, her voice softening in a way Marco had never seen before, her personality too cheeky for him to think she was even capable of it. “You’re an awful actor.”

“Wha – “ he starts saying, but Ann stops him from continuing it, her loud and steady voice goes though the line directly to Marco’s mind.

“Don’t act like you don’t miss him – it just show how much you actually do. He’s arriving in the morning and I told Fabian not to pick him up, because you’re doing it.” Marco wonders how she is so confident about herself. “I trust you to do the right thing.” She hangs up before he can reason against it – and maybe it’s a good thing in the end, he’s too tired to pretend he doesn’t want him back, that everything he did until now has lead him to nothing but pain.

He gains courage enough and goes to Dortmund airport that Saturday, greets Mario with a ridiculous grin on his face and a bag full of pretzels tossed inside his car, where Mario is about to sit. He acts like he’s not having a mental breakdown inside, and he’s pretty sure Mario is doing the same when he hugs him with an odd look on his eyes. Marco babbles something about making it right as they walk to his car, Mario doesn’t protest, just follow him as he types something furiously on his phone.

They have lunch – hamburgers once again – and afterwards Marco guides them to his house. He presses Mario against the wall as soon as it’s closed, kissing him breathless, taking his time to enjoy it after all the time wasted.  The next hours are filled with apologies, promises and kisses that assure both of them it will be fine in the end.

Ann takes full credit of it after it happens, speaking proudly about how she get them to get it together, and maybe that how them turn into _them._  Marco asks her to have dinner with them once, and the furrows he once directed to her were now replaced by a warm smile and a happy look.

“ _I love you_ _”_ Mario murmurs, nudging Ann’s feet with his own until they both look at him, he just feel the urge to say it.  Marco lowers his sunglasses until they rest on the tip of his nose and Mario can see his green eyes staring him, his lips curl up in a little smile and that’s enough for Mario to understand he feels the same. 

“I kind of like you too.” Ann shrugs, first looking up at Marco and smiling at him before doing the same to Mario.  He laughs softly to himself.

*

Ann goes away when it’s almost five in the afternoon – with a man by her side, their sunkissed skins contrasting as they walk through the beach like it’s a fucking catwalk, she turns her head back at some point, blowing them a kiss in the air.

 “Enjoy yourself.” Marco shouts watching her walking away.

Mario watches as the water slowly gets closer, every wave going a little further than the last one did.  By the time it touches their foot, the sun is already going down – the sunset light makes Marco’s pale skin shine, Mario can’t bring himself to look away from him. He is too distracted analysing the lines of Marco’s tattoos to realise he’s staring back at him now.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, slowly taking off his sunglasses and leaving it by his side.

“We’re in the middle of the beach, Marco.” He answers, avoiding Marco’s disappointed look to stare at his feet instead.

“Papparazis are not near, I swear – and you told me we could.” Marco stands on fours and literally crawls to him slowly, Mario almost shouts for him to watch out for his feet, for God’s sake, but he keeps it silent when he stands above him, pushing Mario down until his body hits the warm sand under him. It’s just a soft brush of lips in the first time.

 Marco makes him reach for his mouth after it – Mario does it, he does not try to hold himself, he does it a hundred times and would probably do it a hundred times more if he was able to. “God – “he kisses him again. “My back will be so fucking sunburned after this.”

“It’s worth it.” Mario pushes him down until their touching each other from toes to forehead.

“I missed you.” Mario says when Marco buries his face on his neck. He knows he’s already said it, but he wants to repeat again and again. “I know, me too”

“I liked that, the jersey holding thing.” He murmurs at some point, approaching the topic face to face from the first time. Turns out neither of them are into talking about Marco’s ankle disaster, prefer to comfort themselves on each other arms, leaving their bodies to say all the implied things that don’t come out of their mouths as they cuddle and kiss.

“Good. I’m glad you liked it.” Mario feels the cold water against his skin now, it makes him shiver under Marco’s weigh and he seems to notice that, wrapping his arms tighter around his back. “How was Ibiza without me?”

“Same old.” He answers casually, like there’s isn’t anything about his injury implied on that sentence. “Hot and funny, without your pretty face under me and Marcel and Robin’s by my side.”

Mario barks a low laugh before catching Marco’s lips again, a wave of affection running so suddenly through his body that it makes him want to do things that should not be done in public with him.

“We’re winning the next one too.” He says, his lips moving against Marco’s when he keeps their noses touching, unable to back away and make distance between the two of them. Marco knows what he means even if they haven’t said those two words, _world cup._

“Yeah, we are.” Marco whispers before kissing him again, deeper and meaningful this time.

“We should head to the hotel, like, _right now._ _”_

And they do.

[VII](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/VII-numero-romano). 16.07. _2015_

_Mario has always had a thing for the Reus family and their reunions._

The last time he attended one of them, snow was falling heavily and Nico wouldn’t shut up about Santa Claus. “What do you think he’ll bring you this year?” He had asked with shining eyes, Mario smiled, “I think now I’ve got everything I need.” He huffs Nico’s hair – Marco smiles next to him.

He gives Nico a Germany jersey with his name on it that year – he takes it with an excited look on his face, holds his present against his chest and goes running through the entire house showing it to every member of the family after hugging Mario tight.

“You should have one with my name on it.” Marco teases when Nico shows it to him. “I do!” He answers, getting a little closer to his uncle with an apologetic look.

“Well,” Marco picks Nico up and sits him on his lap “you’ll have to choose which one you’ll be wearing in the next game.” He raises his eyebrows. Nico’s expression shows how shocked he is with Marco’s reaction. “Hum – “He looks for Yvvone in the room, waiting for his mother to give him some advice on who to deal with the situation he’s at.

“He’ll be wearing Mario’s.” Yvvone declares, giving Marco a cheeky smile, Mel laughs. “I will”

“Well,” Marco pokes his shoulder and Nico turns his attention back to him. “I was the one changing your diapers when you’re one month old, not Mario over there.” He points at him. Nico looks at Mario now, waiting for some kind of help.

“God,” he gets up and walks to Marco’s direction. “Let’s get away from that boring old man.” Nico raises his arms for Mario to pick him up – Marco seems hurt when he does, everyone around laughs out loud, including Nico himself as he clings on Mario like a baby koala.

Mario remember the feeling of Mario’s skin against his that night, he remember Marco’s breathe tickling the back of his neck and his arms tangled around his torso. “My family likes you better than me.” He had said long after the time Mario believed he was already asleep. “Well,” he laughs softly “I don’t blame them.”   Marco bites his neck when he says that. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how much does you mom hate me right now because I stole you on fucking Christmas, by the way?”

“Ten, I guess.” Mario answers as he does his best to turn himself so they can be face to face. Marco doesn’t move an inch as Mario struggle to move between his heavy arms, succeeding in the end even tough his boyfriend was acting against it in tease, for sure.

“Well, same as always then.” He slaps Marco in the arm. “Asshole, you better stop – “

“Shhhh.” Marco puts his finger on Mario’s mouth in an attempt to make him quiet – even in the dark, Mario figures out his smile. “We’ll wake the others up.” As if his dad would wake up even with a plane crashing next to his house, Mario thinks.

He bites his forefinger. “Stop being an idiot then.”

“If I did – “Marco pushes him closer and Mario rests his cheek against his chest – he could hear Marco’s heartbeat that way and that was all it took to guide him to slumber. “You wouldn’t like me half as much.”

When he’s laid down on his couch in a Wednesday night watching Scandal and Melanie’s selfie suddenly shows up on his phone screen, Mario can’t help the surprised look that takes over his face. _“Sunny._ _”_ She greets him – Marco would rolls his eyes until it hit the back of his skull if he heard her saying it like this.

“ _Melanie?_ _”_

_(When Mel hears the nickname for the first time, her expression is disbelief_ _–_ _“What did you call him?_ _” Mario can see her lips curling up in a little smirk_ _“Nothing._ _” Marco answers, but all of them kneow she heard it perfectly._

_She doesn_ _’t say anything until dinner time comes that night,_ _“Hey, sunny_ _–_ _“ she smiles, Marco rolls his eyes and Mario can_ _’t contain the laugh rising on his throat as he analyses the looks on the Reus_ _’ family faces._ _“_ _– Can you pass me the pasta?_ _”_

_“Sure._ _” He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling_ _– knows Marco will kill him too if he dares making fun of his own nickname._

_Marco_ _’s mother raises her eyebrows at Mel._ _“Bother explaining the sunny thing?_ _” She says._

_“Ask your son later._ _”  Mario is sure the blooming laughers that echoes to the room are totally related to the pink spreading up on Marco_ _’s cheek as he buries his face on his hand, not to his nickname.)_

“Did he call you already?”

“Hum?” Mario sits up– if she’s calling him from Dortmund to talk about Marco, something has happened, and there’s huge probability it isn’t a good thing. 

“That coward I used to call my brother – did he call you?” Mario can notice the irritation on her voice when she speaks.  “What is this about?”

“He Skyped me and - .”

“Ok, Mel, he’s on fucking _China_.” He points out, just in case she’s missing any fact in here.

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “He skyped me from _fucking China_ some minutes ago and by the end of it I realised that he actually wanted to call _you_ instead since the beginning.”

Mario barks a low laugh, can’t help himself on not to, no matter how nervous he’s getting.  “Which was extremely rude.” She completes.

“And?”

“He was talking about his plans with an excited look on his eyes and when Nico started crying I politely asked him why he didn’t call _you - who doesn_ _’t have e nephew to take care of-_ to talk about those.”

He waits for her to continue, his heartbeat seems faster now, something totally out of his control.  “And I got the same awkward silence I’m getting from you now in answer.”

“I just – “he stops, tries to search on the back of his mind any possible excuses that Marco could come up with for this.  “I don’t have a fucking clue on that. The last time we talked he was mad about missing Nico’s birthday and that was pretty much all we talked about.”

_“Call him then. I can_ _’t take it if something happens to you two again._ _”_ She says before hanging up- probably to stop Mario from continuing their talk – like she knows he’ll do everything he possibly can to try to avoid calling him.

*

When he picks up his laptop a few minutes later and logs on his Skype account, he’s pretty sure he’s about to have a spontaneous combustion. Mario makes a list of what can possible be the reason for that: it goes from realising that he was a douchebag for leaving Dortmund to having Chinese in dinner and not Thai like he wanted to or stealing his favourite t-shirt.

Marco’s name appears on the screen right above Mario Gomez’s one – Mario tries not to think too much into it when he clicks the video call button.

His face shows up right in front of him before he can even text Mel to say he’ll make everything right again, for sure, without much wait. 

“Hi.” He smiles shyly, revealing a rare pair of dimples on his cheeks – Mario bites his lips to stop himself from smiling too, wants to make this conversation sounds as serious as he means it to be. 

“What time is it in there?”  Mario asks,  keeping his voice low and steady.

“Did Melanie call you?” Marco huffs – he pronounces his sister’s name slowly, making every syllable of it seem heavy on his mouth. _“What time is it in there, Marco?_ ” Mario has a determined look on his face when he repeats it.

“Late.” He leans on the headboard behind him. “Late like you should be sleeping because you have training tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Marco runs his hands down his face.

“How are you?”

“Pretty good. You?” He asks, the look on his face, however, shows the opposite.

“Could do better.”

“So Mel called you.” Marco smiles ironically –Mario knows his boyfriend is planning seventy different ways to kill his sister because she did it.

_“What is it?_ _”_ He says, too tired to even act like there isn’t anything going on (and just trying to put his fingers on what is going on, exactly _.)_

“Nothing. “ Mario doesn’t answer anything, staring at the camera with a determined but still concerned look, so Marco continues. “She’s just seeing too much into it.”

_“What is it?_ _”_ He says again.

Marco huffs, probably realising that trying to act again this conversation will have no use for both of them – that his boyfriend is too stubborn for that.

“Everybody is – “He stops, runs his hands down his face and takes a deep breath for what must be the tenth time in the few minutes they’ve been video chatting.  “Everybody is talking about it.”

“Talking about _what_?”

“England.” He looks directly into the camera – into Mario’s eyes – for the first time since the call began. “You.”

“Liverpool?” He asks.

Of fucking course, of fucking course it’s because of that.

_“Yeah._ _”_ He runs his hands on his hair again – by now, his locks go into ten different directions, one, specifically, seems determined to stay up, no matter how hard Marco tries to keep it down. 

“Marco I – “He can’t come up with any answer to that.

Mario can’t say he didn’t think about it, he can’t lie.

He had thought about it, laying alone in his bed late in the night when Marco could not answer his calls, he had – but those were bad thoughts after tough days of training, after days when Guardiola would almost scream at his face that he didn’t like him a little bit, not at all, and that he’d remain in the bench for as long as he was on Bayern.  “I’m not going.”

_“I don_ _’t want to hold you back._ _”_ Marco says quickly and low, looking down as he does so.

“You’re not.” He says slowly, like he’s explaining something new to a little kid – he needs Marco to understand it.

“I just – look, Mar, I know how things are going in there and I know you fucking love Kloppo.” He smiles softly, but it doesn’t seem happy, defeated being the best way to describe it. “And he wants you there, I know he does, it’d be awesome for you and I – “

“You’re not holding me back.”  He says again, even more slowly than he did before.

Marco ignores him. “And you told me that one day that you wanted new challenges and England will be perfect for that and I just – God, I’m sorry for this.”

“ _Marco,_ _”_ He smiles, if he was here that moment, Mario would kiss his entire face softly and twine their fingers together in attempt to prove him he doesn’t need anything else right now, that he’s got everything he needs just here. “You’re not holding me back.”

“And I reacted in such a ridiculous way when you moved to Munich and – I don’t want you to think I’d do it again. _No matter what you choose, I_ _’m here to support._ _”_ Mario thinks it’s kind of cute how hard he’s trying to seem actually calm and secure about all of this – but even he were on the other side of the Earth Mario would still be able to read into his eyes.    “God, Marco, you’re mad.” 

He stops talking for a few seconds – he opens his mouth at some point, but he ends up taking a deep breathe instead (again), probably waiting for Mario to say something. The look on his face seems both confused and kind of offended in the same time.

“If I was really considering to go anywhere, you are the first person I would tell.” His expression softens. “I know Kloppo wants me and I know it would do me well but I don’t think I really want it all right now.”

Marco keeps silent – he look too focused on analysing his hands now, looking anywhere but Mario’s eyes again.

“I think I’m giving Munich a next try – “ Mario continues, he smiles despite the fact that what he’s just said means that after three years, it hasn’t worked yet “ and even if I’m going to England in the future, we’re crossing the bridge when we come to it and,“ he shrugs, making the most unconcerned look he’s able to “ We’ll make it work.”

“Yeah?” Marco’s voice is low when he speaks again, like he’s not entirely certain of what he just heard – or if he should trust it. “Sure.”

“You swear?” He pouts when he says it – Mario is pretty sure he’s totally aware of how childish he seems right now, but Mario is no one to judge, and Marco is certainly totally aware of that too.

“I do.” He shakes his head. “Skype was created for a reason, you know.”

“I can write down a list of a few things we cannot do by Skype, Mar.” He raises his eyebrow, there’s a hint of smile playing on his lips now.

“I can write down a list of a few things we can.” Mario grins. “Talking about our feelings being number one of it since you don’t seem to have developed this skill after all those years – and I thought we were long over that time right now.”

“I know.” Marco bites his lips, he looks down at his hands again. “I thought we were over it too but I started overreacting and then I read too much into everything and –“he stops himself from continuing, like he’s valuating the weight his words will probably have.

 “I guess I freaked out with the idea of you leaving and us – “he gasps “breaking up again.”

“It’s not happening.” He assures.

“Yeah, it’s not happening.” Marco says lower again – like he’s trying to convince himself on it more than anything else. He smiles a little again – Mario knows it’s not completely sincere yet, the rough lines still on his face telling him that, but it’ll do by now.

He sinks down into the mattress, making himself comfortable and adjusting the laptop on his lap. “How are things in there?”

 The air around him seems somehow lighter – he’s finally able to breath properly again. “That Chinese restaurant we went last month sucks from the ones in here.”

“Well, it makes sense since you’re in China and everything.” He can’t stop himself on teasing him. Marco ignores his remarks – but he still hears his low snort before he speaks again. “I’m bringing you fortune cookies, by the way.”

“Buying your way into my pants with foreign food, that’s a good move of yours.” He smirks, raising his eyebrows – Marco smiles, his eyes almost disappearing as he does so and Mario notices his tired features.  

“Go to sleep, you sound tired.” Mario says, felling his own tiredness starting to take his body full.

“Tuchel is going to kill me tomorrow.” He points out, but the smile on his face says he’s not really bothered by it as he plans to sound. 

“Is he nice?”

“Nice enough.” He smiles. “I guess it will be good season.”

 “Good.” He shakes his head in approval.

 Last year was a fucking disaster, BVB reaching the tip of the table made Mario sick to his stomach, the thought that just two years back they were in the Champions League final making it all seem more absurd. Marco tried to handle it, kept repeating to himself it was just a phase, things would go right in the end. Mario assured him of that every time he possibly could, whispering that he believed in them.

 It turned out better than he imagined, Dortmund ending in the seventh position in the table – and Bayern winning once again, the fifth Bundesliga trophy on Mario’s career while Marco was left with no one.

“Who are you even sharing bedroom with anyways? I bet he’s planning to kill you too.”

“Pierre.” He looks to something – probably someone, Auba – next to him. “He’s totally asleep.”

“Good, his snores are not as loud as yours then.”

“What is your problem with me, Götze?” He crosses his arms above his chest and Mario notices his forehead crinkling as he fakes an angry expression.

“A few, but the number one of the list is that I don’t want you to have a fucked up sleeping schedule because of me when you’re on fucking China – and just as a matter of a fact “ he smirks “- you don’t look slightly intimidating, if that was your plan.”

“Well – “

“Go to sleep, Marco.” Mario repeats, stopping Marco from saying anything he planned – he checks the time on his watch before looking up at Mario again.  “Fine, _mom_.”

Mario rolls his eyes in answer to that, but his expression still softens when he sees Marco yawning – how down is he for him, for God’s sake?

 “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too, asshole.”

[VIII](http://numeracaoromana.babuo.com/VIII-numero-romano). 16.07.  _2016_

Mats is first to go. The news break two weeks after he called Mario _._

“Mats?” He answered after his phone rang for some seconds until he made it to his bedroom. It was not usual for him to call any time, especially in the middle of the week.

“Hi, Mario.” Mats greeted, his voice low and uncertain.

“Are you ok?” He asked, furrowing without realising it.

There was a few seconds of silence. Mario felt oddly anxious.

“ _I_ _’m moving._ _”_ Mats takes a deep breath before saying it, pronouncing every word like it’s difficult to do so.

“What?” He asked, confusion clear on his voice. “Whe – Man United? “

“Munich.” Mats answered drily. “ _Bayern_ , Mario, I’m moving to Bayern.” He completes – and it seems like he’s still trying to convince himself on it, make _himself_ believe that’s true.

A million of thoughts go on Mario’s head before he answers anything.

Mats with the captain armband. Mats and him celebrating their second Bundesliga winning together. The look of disappointment on his eyes when Mario announced that he was moving right before the game against Madrid. It makes Mario’s stomach tighten, it seems like there’s something stuck on his throat before he answers him.

“ _What?_ _”_ He asked to make sure he had heard it right.

“ _I_ _’m moving to Bayern_.” He repeats, slowly this time, trying to steady his voice.

Mario still couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Wha – When did you –“

_Marco will so fucking broken,_ Mario thinks. He feels ridiculously selfish for thinking about that right ahead, but he does, can’t make himself not to.

“I know.” Mats says.  “I just – I’m tired and it’s been hard, I miss my family and – “

“I know, I - I kind of understand." Mario answered, because _he did._

Maybe he’s the only one who would be able to understand at first – he knows what it is, the rough game sequence, putting all your efforts and yet see Bayern winning. At the same he knows what it is to miss home, to long for a place surrounded by familiar faces, the unique warmth of family. He’s no one to judge Mats, and maybe that’s why he chooses to call him that day beside all people.

He can’t fall asleep properly after they hang up, His mind full with thoughts about Mats and his courage to do it even if he’ll face hell after it’s announced – they both know he will.  The light yellow wall seems to shine in front of him despite the fact there’s no lights on at that moment.

He decided it three weeks after the call – after nights almost without any sleep, after considering every little thing, he decides it’s time to make a move.

The first person he tells for real is Felix – he had just arrived from training, sweated and still with hard and short breaths when Mario says it. “I’m thinking about coming back.”

“What?” He says, a confused look on his face now.

“ _Home_.” Mario says, it send shivers down his body – he doesn’t know if it makes him feel like crying or laughing, maybe both.

“They called and they might want me back after all and – God, I want it too.” He completes, the words leaving his mouth in such a rush that he almost gasps.

“Oh.” Felix says, surprise taking the place where once was confusion. He walks in Mario’s direction after taking off his backpack, throwing it right on the floor and sitting down next to him. “I’m – “he puts his arms around his back, like he’s the older brother here. “I’m here to support, mom will be happy, Marco too.”

Mario felt ridiculously lucky as he hugged him after it.

Marco is the fourth person he tells – after Ann and his parents. He does it on a Thursday night, after they’ve been talking on the phone for more than an hour, sleep almost creeping up to him as he hears his boyfriend voice.

 “Marco?” Mario says, just to make sure he’s still there after he says it.

“What?” He answers, Mario can’t read anything into it – there’s not a clue of what he could probably be thinking on his tone of voice.

“Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” He answers, something in his voice changing as he pronounces the three words, getting louder and steadier.  “Dear God, Mario, I – “

“I’m crazy, I know.” He says before Marco can have even enough time to finish because, God, _he is._ He knows there’s huge chance that he’ll regret it in the future, he knows things may not go how he’s planning them to, he knows it’s going to be hard but he can’t bring himself to give up of this, needs to follow the advices he gave to Mats himself and try to go and make everything right – like it always should have been.

(He mentioned it to him once, a few weeks after they had got back together. “You’re just upset, Mar, you don’t really mean it. It’ll be fine in a few weeks, I swear.” Marco had answered, pulling him closer and leaving a kiss on his forehead. 

“Yeah.” He had said, leaning closer to Marco and burying his face on his neck, enjoying the feeling of having him so close while it lasted.)

“It’s going to be difficult, there’s going to be haters and not everyone has already moved on and – “Marco stops for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. “But God, it’s – it’s fucking amazing, I can’t believe you.” He says, making Mario smile from ear to ear, so big that it hurts his cheeks.

“I love you.” He says, because he _does,_ and that’s pretty much what is giving him strenght enough to go and try Dortmund one more time – the thought that, even if it doesn’t go well, Marco will be by his side, his lips against his and their bodies entangled.

*

Mario realises that maybe the weirdest thing is that it doesn’t feel slightly weird after when he arrives in Dortmund, his car full of his and Ann’s luggage. It’s almost night when he gets in there, the evening breeze kissing his skin as he looks up at the sky above, a mix of yellow and pink shadows and Mario smiles to himself because **_this is it._**

He still knows these streets like he knows himself – the memories of those times when he was a kid playing football with Fabian fresh in his mind, can’t stop remembering the years back when he would be spotted by fans in every corner, signing them autographs and taking pictures with a huge smile on his face.

His new apartment is two blocks away from his parent’s house – and four from Marco’s.  He greets the gatekeepers as he enters the complex, a soft smile on his lips, and takes just enough time to park his car on the garage and take a few bags upstairs before his mobile starts ringing.

Marco’s face appears on the screen. “Are you here already?”

“Yeah.” Mario smiles. “And on my way.”

*

He opens the door with his old key, the one Marco gave him back at 2013 – he never threw it away, besides everything, it was always kept stuffed inside one of his pockets, right next to the key to his own house and a few old candies that turn out to be Marco’s favourites,

“Hey you.” He says, closing the door behind him as he enters. Marco lays down on his couch, watching something in the television and typing something on his phone at the same time. 

“Hi.” Marco answers, giving him a little smile.

Mario walks to his direction, leaving his bag on the armchair next to him.  “How is your thigh?”

“Why? Do you have any plans with it?” Marco puts his phone down, watching as Mario sits next to him.

“Nothing but scoring beautiful goals with your assistance.” He says, a smirk playing on his lips as he crawls to Marco.

“Any other?” He grins, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at Mario.

“Not that I can think of right now.” Mario licks his lips, watching as Marco’s look go down until it stops on his mouth.

“Fine then.” He turns his eyes away picks his phone up again, pretending to have full attention to it even if he keeps his one of his hands dangerously close to Mario’s waistband, their legs entangled together.

“No, but, seriously.” Mario asks, crawling to Marco until their bodies are touching completely, his back against his belly as he adjusts his head on the pillow they’re now sharing. “How is it?”

“Pretty nice, I guess I’ll be back by the end of September if everything goes as planned.” He says, changing the the tv channels with his hands thrown on top of Mario’s body.

“I’m meeting Tuchel tomorrow.” Mario declares, an excited tone in his voice. “Watzke will be there too.”

“Already planning to turn you into his pet again the coach’s pet one more time.” Marco teases him, biting his lips to stop himself from laughing. 

“I couldn’t make it with Guardiola – guess I’ll put extra effort this time.” Marco laughs – Mario can feel his body moving against his back.

"When are they announcing it?"

"Next week. Bild is already spreading the rumours tough." He says, taking a long breath. “Most people can’t believe it.”

Marco chuckles. "Yeah, I would have a hard time believing it too. And Andre?”

Mario still has a hard time believing Andre will be there too – never thoughts for just one second this could probably happen, the three of them playing together for BVB.  (Andre called two weeks after he made his decision, said they were trying to get him too.

“Dear God.” Mario had answered, a smile on his face.

“I guess I’m coming too.” Andre answered after a few minutes, barking a low laugh.

Maybe things were about to go right.)

“In two weeks, I think.”

“That’s – “Marco stops, maybe he has a hard time believing it too. “I can’t wait.”

“Finished settling down already?”

“You can honestly think that.” Mario laughs, turning his head to stare a smirking Marco behind him. “It’s a complete mess, I’m glad Ann isn’t here yet, she’d go crazy, it’s all actually thrown on the floor.”

“Maybe I can help you.” Marco smiles, the memories of the day when they organized his own things here probably going to his mind as they do in Mario’s.

“Nah.” Mario moves, turning himself until they’re face to face. “We’ve got better things to do.” He says, biting Marco’s lower lip and throwing one of his legs on top of his and pulling him closer.

*

It’s raining when he wakes up again, a little bit before midnight. Marco lays asleep behind him on the couch, both of his arms still wrapped around Mario’s torso, and the television still playing the final scenes of the movie they were watching. Something inside him feels weird, nostalgia creeping up his body entirely – the weirdest thing is that nothing seems to have changed until now, and Mario feels the weight of it on his back.

It doesn’t seem like nothing has changed because he hasn’t face everything yet. He still hasn’t met the fans, his new and old – the ones he’s left back years ago – teammates, he’s still hasn’t trained with Tuchel and, God, there’s so much he didn’t face yet, so much he’ll have to handle and it all makes his stomach tighten, like there’s someone punching him repeatedly.

He shifts his body between Marco’s arms trying to find a better position, suddenly feeling like there isn’t enough air in the room.

“Are you alright?” Marco asks suddenly, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“I’m – I’m terrified.” He answers, his eyes still oddly fixed on the screen even if he’s not paying attention on what’s going on in the movie right now, just registering the actors moving and saying something he can’t quite understand.

Marco doesn’t even need to ask what is this about, his talent on reading Mario perfectly too good for him too need to do it.  “It’s going to be fine.” He says,  his breath against Mario’s ear as he pulls him closer, burying his face on Mario’s neck and running the tip of his nose against it in a caring way.

“I know but – “

“ _It will._ Tuchel is nice and everyone will welcome you warmly back to the club.”

“I was kind of an douchebag back then and everyone got mad and – “

“ _Mar._ _”_ Marco says with a steady and firm voice as he slides one of his hands to Mario’s waist, squeezing it.

_“_ And I know it will probably be fine in the end and I was acting all secure about this and –“

“Mario.” He repeats, his voice sounding way more awake now. He nudges Marco’s ribs until he turns back to him, keeping his arms wrapped around him the best he can as he does so. Mario watches his boyfriend in the dark, can figure out his features even if the only thing to provide light in that moment is the television – he looks at him with a uncertain expression, like he’s not yet a hundred per cent sure of what to do in that moment, still, Mario sees he is trying his best.

“It will be fine but it’s going to be so fucking hard – and I thought Munich would be fine in the end too but – “he stops, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, trying to organize everything that was once bottled up blowing in his mind now. Marco puts their foreheads together.

“I thought you told me you were ready to face it.” He runs his hands on Mario’s locks slowly.

“I thought I was – “ He looks up at him again, a desperate look on his eyes now.

“ _You are._ _”_ Marco says and he seems so fucking sure of it that it almost makes Mario believe it too – but he can’t, not right now when his breath is that fast as his mind is running through so many different scenarios where all of this go wrong in so many ways.  

_“I don_ _’t think so._ _”_ He says slowly, his low voice breaking as he pronounces every word.

“You’re not being you, Mar. You’re ready and you’re going to do it brilliantly.” He smiles to himself, a shy curl of lips is enough to make Mario’s heartbeat slow down a little.

“Yeah?” He asks, squeezing Marco’s biceps where his hand rests.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He runs his thumb on Mario’s cheek, the smile still on his face as he does so.

“It’ll be fine, you’ll turn into Tuchel’s pet and score amazing goals and everyone will be back to loving their old golden boy.” Marco completes, raising his eyebrows slightly now, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “It’ll be like you’ve never gone away.”

“And you and Pierre are going to bond together to tease the hell out of me.” He puts his finger on Mario’s chin, raising his head until he’s staring right into his eyes. “But I’ll be fine about it in the end of the day.”

Mario chuckles, his body moving against Marco’s and all the muscles that were frozen now slowly relaxing one by one as Marco runs the tip of his fingers against his skin. “Fine?”

“Fine.” Mario answers a genuine smile on his face, his breath stabilizing slowly.

Mario scoots closer until his face is right above Marco’s chin, his nose against his neck as he takes his accent in. “I love you.” He mutters, his lips moving against Marco’s skin as he does it.

“Yeah, I love you too.” Marco answers, tracing unknown patterns on Mario’s back as he lowers his head just enough to leave a kiss on his temple. It’s easy to fall asleep it, the sound of Marco’s breath and heartbeat guiding him to slumber before he can think much  into it and his head full of Marco Reus and the Sudtribune singing his name in praise.

_It_ _’ll be alright. It has to be._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this <3 any kind of feedback is really appreciated – i kind of worked really hard to make this at least decent so...  
> I’m thinking about adding an epilogue to it, but it still depends on how much work I’m getting at school in the next month (and i believe there will be a lot)  
> Anyways, thanks again <3


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